


Winter Wonder Lies

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Deserves A Medal, Christmas Things, Dick Pics, F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, Jewish things, M/M, Modern AU, New Year’s Eve, Wrong number, past Bucky/Steve, soft steve rogers, texting strangers, well. Baby hungry steve rogers, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Steve is Bucky’s best friend, so when he asks, with that FACE - the face with the eyes and the pout and the look of sincere desperation - Bucky agrees to pretend to be his boyfriend for Christmas with Steve’s Mom. But then shit gets too real and Bucky finds himself texting a total stranger because he needs HELP.For the Quorum of Assholes on Tumblr. You know who you are.





	Winter Wonder Lies

**Author's Note:**

> NOW FULLY BETA READ!!! By the Amazing Ro!!!
> 
> All the thanks to Ro, who is fucking amazing.
> 
> Also thanks to the assholes who, in their OWN WORDS, “dragged me” until I finished this. Love you all.
> 
>  
> 
> Assholes.
> 
> ————

“So, when are you and Steve going to move in together?”

 

Bucky choked on his wine. Well, his wine… cooler? Wine spritzer? Whatever you called it when you ruined perfectly potable $7.99 red house wine by dumping an entire glass of flat seltzer in it, pouring it over ice, and offering it to your guests like you  _ weren’t _ making a half-assed attempt at poisoning them.

 

“Wha- what?” Steve managed to ask while he pounded his open palm against Bucky’s back.

 

And, yes, Bucky wanted to be able to breathe again, but he wanted to do it without broken ribs.

 

“Well, you two have been dating for, what, seven months now? And you’ve known each other your whole lives, practically. It seems like a wise financial choice, not to mention an important step in your relationship. Having an established co-credit history and, of course, co-residency, are necessary steps if you want to pursue adoption.”

 

Forget breathing.

 

Forget surviving broken ribs.

 

Bucky wanted to sink into the floor and  _ die _ .

 

As it was, bent nearly double, Bucky was able to shoot Steve his most intense ‘I will fucking murder the ever-loving shit out of you, asshole’ glare.

 

Bucky had been told that it was his most intimidating glare.

 

Steve gulped, his red face somehow turning even a shade darker, as he tried to figure out what the fuck to tell his mother in response to  _ that _ .

 

Because, the thing was, Bucky loved Steve. He did. He had loved the asshole since they were seven, since Steve had picked a fight with some kids because they didn’t recycle their pop cans.

 

But the kind of love Bucky felt for Steve? It wasn’t the ‘I need your dick and your dick alone for the rest of our lives’ kind of love.

 

It was the ‘you’re my asshole, and you’re a goddamn asshole but I picked you, and if anyone even looks at you funny, I’m prepared to punch them’ kind of love.

 

It was the best friends who, yeah, had gone through that phase in sophomore year of college where they had been best friends/roommates with benefits. Until they realized that, yeah, the sex after their blow-out fights was great, but those fights were too goddamn brutal to be worth it.

 

So, they’d agreed to be best friends. Agreed to even be standing dates for each other when necessary - work functions, weddings, funerals, awkward family gatherings. 

 

But they hadn’t been dating for the last seven months. And they had no fucking plans to move in together, because Steve was a goddamn animal and didn’t even rinse his dishes before loading them in the dishwasher and Bucky had had enough of living like a caveman in college, thanks.

 

Steve had broken up with his last boyfriend, Brock ‘I’m a goddamn moron’ Rumlow, on Valentine’s Day, for a list of reasons that somehow pushed Steve over the edge with the fuckface. Finally.

 

And, well. Sarah Rogers was nothing if not a meddling, loving mother who was convinced that her bisexual son would die alone in his own pile of unfolded laundry unless he settled down with a good boy or girl and started producing grandkids.

 

So, Steve had concocted an elaborate lie - unbeknownst to Bucky until last week - that yes, he and Brock ‘the fucking walking broken goddamn dildo’ Rumlow had ended their two-year relationship on Valentine’s Day. But it was because Steve had realized he still had romantic feelings for Bucky - according to Steve’s complicated and dumb-as-all-shit lie - and so, they had been dating for the last seven months.

 

Which was how Bucky found himself having Christmas dinner with Steve and Sarah, wearing a goddamn reindeer sweater that Sarah had knitted for him that had his and Steve’s  _ fucking initials entwined _ on the ribbon around the reindeer’s neck.

 

Bucky had opened the sweater, given Steve one very brief, very eloquent look, and then turned to Sarah with a grin and pulled it on.

 

At least it was soft.

 

Steve had, the night he had come clean to Bucky last week, already promised a huge number of favors for Bucky engaging in this fucking farce. But a sweater? That practically announced their engagement?

 

Steve was never getting his season tickets to the Mets back. Bucky was going to go to every goddamn game for the rest of his life, even if he had to pick up randoms on the street to go with him.

 

And now… now, Sarah was talking about fucking  _ grandkids. _

 

Steve was mumbling something. Something complicated - which meant, as usual, it was a shit lie. Something about Bucky’s partnership at the law firm and his, Steve’s, ortho fellowship and-

 

Bucky finally managed to breathe, and he fumbled for his phone, pulling it out under the table and sending a text to Natasha. His real friend.

 

The kind of friend who would never ask this shit of him.

 

**_SOS. GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. SHE’S TALKING ABOUT GRANDKIDS_ ** _. _

 

It was a few seconds later when his phone vibrated in his lap. Which.

 

Bucky shifted it safely away from his dick. He didn’t need that on top of this shit.

 

**You want a sex emergency or a death emergency? Those are my specialties.**

 

Bucky had to check the contact info. Because that… was definitely not the response Natasha would have given him.

 

**_Who the fuck is this?_ ** Bucky typed.

 

**Clint. Who the fuck is this?**

 

Clint.

 

Bucky frowned. The name was vaguely familiar. It-

 

Right.

 

Natasha’s human disaster of a best friend. The professional archer, which sounded fake to Bucky, but whatever. The guy who travelled all over the world and was somehow miraculously alive despite all of the truly insane stories Natasha told about him.

 

**_Why are you on Natasha’s phone?_ **

 

**Oh. OHHHHHHHHHHHH. OH SHIT. That explains so much. Fuck me. You still need that sex emergency or what?**

 

Bucky sighed.

 

Steve was now talking about the fact that they would have to decide between Brooklyn and Manhattan. And Sarah- 

 

She pulled out her phone and started to look at Rent.com.

 

**_OH JESUS FUCK. THEY’RE APARTMENT HUNTING FOR ME AND MY FAKE AS FUCK BOYFRIEND!_ **

 

**My dude. You are screwed. I don’t think a sex emergency would work in this case.**

 

**_But maybe? Maybe you could be my dick on the side?_ **

 

**What and I text you in a jealous rage?**

 

**_I was thinking you could CALL._ **

 

**Hm. You never said who you were. All Nat’s phone says is a bunch of Russian and I’m kinda rusty but… Big Dick Bear? Is that you?**

 

Bucky closed his eyes.

 

He was going to murder Steve.

 

He was going to murder Natasha.

 

“Oh, here’s a lovely place not too far from Columbia.” Sarah held the phone out across the table for both Steve and Bucky to look at.

 

He was possibly going to murder everyone.

 

**Send me a pic.**

 

**_Of what? My dick??????_ **

 

**I mean. I wouldn’t say no. But I meant your face. Gotta know what I’m working with here.**

 

Bucky drew in a deep breath, offered both Steve and Sarah a tight smile, and stood up from the table.

 

“Sorry, gotta run to the bathroom.”

 

He escaped, completely ignoring Steve’s pleading look, because seriously. It was Steve’s own damn fault.

 

Bucky locked himself in the bathroom and leaned back against the door and drew in a deep breath.

 

He caught sight of himself in the mirror and- yeah, he looked about as crazed as he felt.

 

Still.

 

Bucky finger combed his hair into order, straightened his goddamn reindeer sweater, and took a photo.

 

He sent it to Clint.

 

**Nice. Love the sweater. Where’s the D?**

 

**_I’m not sending you a goddamn dick pick._ **

 

**So I’m going to have to call you little dick bear until otherwise proven.**

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

He was not doing this.

 

He was NOT going to-

 

The phone vibrated again, and Bucky saw it was a photo.

 

Cautiously, he opened it.

 

The photo was of a man, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, lightly-tanned, shirtless and with stupidly-defined abs, wearing sweatpants that were so low on his hips they might as well have been off because Bucky now knew that guy shaved. Or at least sculpted his pubic hair.

 

He was lying on a couch, smiling at the camera with a crooked tilt of his lips, and he was unreasonably attractive.

 

Even with a bandaid across his nose. And a stupid Santa hat falling off his head.

 

**Trade you.**

 

Bucky didn’t know if Clint was saying he had traded a selfie for a selfie, or if-

 

Another photo.

 

The same angle, but the damn sweatpants were even lower.

 

Clint definitely shaved.

 

Bucky waited, wondering if he was about to get an actual dick pic from a total stranger.

 

Instead, Clint sent a text.

 

**Hey. I think I just fell down the stairs and I need help getting to the hospital. Wanna come give me a hand?**

 

There was a string of emojis attached to the text. Winky faces, eggplants, peaches and- 

 

A single eyeball?

 

**Shit. That was the wrong emoji.**

 

Clint sent an emoji of a dart hitting the bullseye of a target.

 

Bucky had no idea what the fuck that was supposed to be.

 

A soft knock on the door startled Bucky.

 

“Buck? You okay in there?”

 

It was Steve. Doing his best goddamn impression of a puppy that had chewed up a pair of Ferragamos and eaten an Hermès scarf, and now wanted a treat.

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“I’m going to murder you,” he whispered against the door separating them.

 

“I know, Buck, I know.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes at how sincere Steve sounded.

 

“But,” Steve began, and Bucky groaned.

 

“No, Steve. Whatever you’re about to say - no.  _ No _ .”

 

“It’s just- it’s just midnight mass, Buck. Last thing - I swear. I’ll tell her next week that we broke up, okay?”

 

“Stevie, I’m Jewish-”

 

“No, you’re not. You said last week the only religion you practiced was the worship of bacon and cheeseburgers.”

 

“I was  _ raised _ by a Jewish atheist,” Bucky growled in correction, “so maybe I’m not completely in the know about Jesus shit. But did you just invite me to church and promise to tell your mom another lie  _ if _ I go?”

 

“Yeah. I promise.”

 

“Doesn’t that seem… I don’t know… sinful? Contradictory? Hypocritical?”

 

“You said you’re never going to forgive Rabbi Moshel for your bris because you think uncut dicks are the most gorgeous things ever and he’s ruined you.”

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

Actually.

 

Bucky pulled out his phone.

 

**_Are you circumcised?_ **

 

“Buck, please. Just- one last thing, and then you can go home and I’ll bring you those bagels you like tomorrow-”

 

“With lox.”

 

“With lox.”

 

“Told you I was Jewish.”

 

“Sure. Fine. You’re the most Jewish ever. My point is-”

 

Bucky’s phone vibrated.

 

With a photo.

 

Mouth dry, Bucky could only stare.

 

Well, there was the dick pic from a stranger.

 

And goddamn, what a pic.

 

What a  _ dick _ .

 

“Yeah, it’s fine, Steve. I’ll go to mass. But if your mom tries to like, formally announce our engagement-”

 

“Bucky, it’s a Catholic Church. Don’t worry.”

 

Bucky sighed, gave the dick pic one last, longing look, and locked his phone.

 

He opened the door, and Steve nearly fell over.

 

Bucky smirked at him.

 

“I hate you,” Steve muttered.

 

“No, you don’t, sugar plum. You fucking love me.”

 

“Boys,” Sarah called, “do you want coffee before we go to Aunt Ethel’s?”

 

Bucky whirled to glare at Steve.

 

“Who the fuck is Aunt Ethel?”

 

“My aunt.”

 

“Steve, so help me, if I murder you right now, I’m pretty sure I could defend myself into a not guilty verdict.  _ Why _ are we going to your aunt’s?”

 

Steve flushed, and Bucky knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

 

“Tell. Me.”

 

“I’ve never brought a guy home for Christmas before, and-”

 

“You and Brock dated for two years. How did you never bring him?”

 

“First year, he said it was too soon. Second year, he… It’s not important.” Steve had the look on his face that very clearly said ‘it was fucking important’.

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“Stevie…”

 

“Anyway, we’re just going over to Aunt Ethel’s for dessert and to see Cathy’s new baby and probably hear all about Alex’s new promotion and… My mom will probably make a big deal about you. But only for a few hours! Then we’ll go to midnight mass and it will be over.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I’ll get you a date with that hot nurse you’ve been pining over.”

 

“Thor?”

 

“Yes. Promise.”

 

Thor  _ was _ really hot.

 

“Fine.”

  
  


**—-**

 

Aunt Ethel lived in a brownstone four blocks down, covered in bright, multi-colored Christmas lights, and with a yard full of inflatable decorations. Including an inflatable manger. Bucky didn’t know they made inflatable mangers.

 

He remembered Steve doing an installation project in one of his undergrad art classes where he had taken inflatables, filled them with expanding spray foam, and then strategically cut them open and painted the exposed foam to look like skin.

 

Cathy’s new baby was…

 

Bucky didn’t have a lot of experience with babies. Not since his own siblings had outgrown being babies. And Becca, Mary and Edith had expressed about as much desire to procreate as Bucky - which was to say, none. 

 

So, maybe Bucky was just unused to seeing babies up close, but Cathy’s baby was  _ ugly _ . And not in the squishy newborn way. The baby was six months old. It was ugly in a way that made Bucky shoot Steve a glance of alarm. Because there didn’t seem to be anything physically  _ wrong _ with the baby.

 

He was just ugly.

 

And Bucky was apparently shallow enough to judge the baby for that.

 

Steve just stared back at Bucky and opened his giant fucking arms wide to take possession of his… however the kid was related to him, and grinned like a fucking idiot when the baby burped something up all over him.

 

Bucky swallowed down bile.

 

If any of his sisters did renege on their pact to be barren forever, he was going to move somewhere far, far away so he would never have to-

 

Oh, fuck.

 

Steve got up, walked over to Bucky, and held out the goddamn ugly goddamn baby to him.

 

Bucky glared. It was his ‘I am a barely functioning human, do you not remember me doing shots of Jager with a goddamn marine last weekend until we both passed out and I woke up with five dicks drawn on my face and I still think you were the one who drew them, you asshole’ glare. His glares were, as a rule, very eloquent.

 

But Steve… Steve fucking Rogers, just handed him the goddamn baby.

 

Bucky clutched it awkwardly. How were you supposed to hold a baby?

 

Like a bomb, he decided. Like an explosive that could blow at any moment.

 

Bucky fit his hands under the ugly creature’s armpits and held it as far away from him as he physically could.

 

The baby gurgled.

 

Steve sighed in rapture.

 

Bucky closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

 

Big mistake.

 

Something smelled…

 

“Oh, he’s having a poop!” Steve exclaimed. As if the baby was making a goddamn masterpiece.

 

Bucky cracked an eye open.

 

The baby was still gurgling at him, as if taking a poop in public was the easiest thing ever.

 

“Want us to change him?” Steve asked Cathy.

 

Bucky whipped his head around.

 

“Steve. We don’t know a fucking thing about- shit. I’m sorry.”

 

Everyone laughed at him.

 

Cathy took the baby back.

 

“It’s okay, Bucky. Thomas won’t remember this. But if he does, we’ll be sure to blame you when his first word is fuck. Or shit.”

 

The baby gurgled again, and Steve grinned again.

 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bucky announced.

 

He was given directions by Ethel, and he escaped and once again locked himself in the safety of a tiled room.

 

Bucky pulled his phone out and texted Clint.

 

**_This is awful. This is a goddamn nightmare. This is a shitting nightmare. Literally. A literal shitting, gurgling nightmare._ **

 

The response was long enough in coming that Bucky took the time to fix his hair again. He wasn’t sold on this new gel. 

 

**I’ve had a lot of responses to my dick. But that’s a first.**

 

It took Bucky a moment to figure out what the fuck Clint was referring to.

 

A moment, because he scrolled up on his phone so he could look at Clint’s dick again.

 

Goddamn, it was a pretty dick.

 

**_Sorry. No. That had absolutely nothing to do with your dick. I just had an ugly baby in my arms that was actively shitting._ **

 

**You’re taking this fake boyfriend thing really far - are you at an adoption agency or something?**

 

Bucky had to laugh. Because the idea was ridiculous, but Steve’s fucking  _ face _ \- and Sarah’s face - while Bucky had had the damn shitting time bomb in his hands had made it perfectly clear that the both of them wouldn’t have minded being at an adoption agency instead of at Aunt Ethel’s.

 

**_No. Thank fuck. We’re at Aunt Ethel’s before we go to midnight mass._ **

 

**Nat said you were Jewish? Well. She said you were Jewish in the ‘I’m susceptible to maternal guilt’ and ‘I avoid Christian things’ kind of way. But that you’re really an atheist.**

 

Huh.

 

That was, well, it was accurate. But also-

 

**_When did you ask Natasha about me?_ **

 

**When she texted me demanding to know why I had her phone and why she was getting updates on a pizza order she would never place because she’s one of those heathens who doesn’t eat pineapple on pizza.**

 

**_I never knew that about her. How awful. And you think you know a person…_ **

 

**Right? Fucking RIGHT? Anyway. I asked her who the guy I was sending dick pics to was and if I should get you a Christmas present and she told me you were atheist-Jewish.**

 

**_What kind of Christmas present were you thinking? Because I could be persuaded to celebrate whatever Jesus thing this is. Mangers are cool._ **

 

**Was that you trying to sound like you know what the fuck Christmas is or you asking me to get you a manger?**

 

**_Please don’t get me a manger. My apartment is perfectly laid out right now._ **

 

**Speaking of laying out. Do I get NO feedback on the dick pic?**

 

**_Solid pic. Great lighting. Good use of angles._ **

 

**Uh… maybe more about the dick than the pic?**

 

**_Gorgeous. Would blow. Would ride. Also, thanks for answering my question. I do love uncircumcised dicks. 9/10._ **

 

**How do I get bumped up to a 10? I’m very competitive.**

 

**_I reserve the final tenth for mouth feel._ **

 

**Mouth feel??????? OMFG. I think I love you. For Christmas, let me give you my dick. Sound good?**

 

**_I don’t really know how Christmas presents work - any chance you can give it to me another night? Apparently I’m going to be stuck with shitting babies for another half hour before I get to ‘escape’ to midnight mass._ **

 

**Doesn’t Christmas last for twelve days? Is that like… twelve before or twelve after? Or is it split in the middle?**

 

**_No fucking clue._ **

 

**Same. Fuck it. Literally. Hey, wait, you still haven’t told me your actual name. Also, I don’t know if you’re Big Dick Bear or Little Dick Bear.**

 

**_You really want me to whip it out in a stranger’s bathroom while there is a shitting baby in the house and send you a pic?_ **

 

**I mean…**

 

Bucky sighed. It wasn’t the worst thing he had done today.

 

And, really. He deserved a few moments to himself to jack off thinking about Clint’s gorgeous dick.

 

He unzipped his corduroys - corduroys, Rogers, which Bucky only broke out when he was on his best goddamn behavior - and shoved his briefs below his balls so he could get a hand on himself.

 

Bucky navigated back to Clint’s dick pic and pictured himself going down on that gorgeous, uncut dick.

 

Slowly and firmly, he started to stroke himself.

 

He scrolled up even farther, to the photo of Clint with his sweatpants at the tops of his thighs, the base of his cock just barely visible, Clint’s blue eyes sparkling in amused invitation.

 

Fuck, he was hot.

 

And those fucking  _ abs. _

 

Bucky wrangled his phone in position and took a photo of his dick. He looked at it, not entirely satisfied, and took another. And then one more, for good measure.

 

And then, because he was, at heart, an unashamed twink - or twunk, as Steve insisted on calling him no matter how many goddamn times Bucky punched him - he turned around and took a photo of his ass.

 

He sent the best of the dick pics and the ass pic to Clint.

 

It was only after he sent them, as he was pulling his briefs and cords back up, that Bucky realized what he had just done.

 

He had just sent Natasha a dick pic. And an ass pic.

 

Natasha, who routinely posted all of the unsolicited dick pics she was sent on twitter and instagram - pixilated and filtered into PG-13ness - and gave vicious commentary on each and every one. 

 

She was going to murder him.

 

She was going to  _ eviscerate _ him.

 

**_You have to delete those. Natasha will crucify me if they are on her phone._ **

 

Clint didn’t respond immediately.

 

In fact, Clint didn’t respond at  _ all _ in the next five minutes.

 

Steve, once again, came to fetch him from the bathroom.

 

He looked chagrined, as if he  _ knew _ he was asking way, way too much from Bucky.

 

“Look, Steve, if you’re this crazy about starting a family, you gotta start dating guys who aren’t assholes like Brock.”

 

Steve sighed.

 

“Yeah. I just… Brock was funny, and he challenged me, you know?”

 

“If by challenged, you mean he was a total fucking dick who picked fights with you all of the time, then sure. He challenged you.”

 

Steve glared at Bucky.

 

“That’s not what I mean. I just- I need someone like  _ you _ , who calls me on my shit and supports me. But, you know, someone I want to fuck. And someone who isn’t terrified of small children.”

 

“I’m not terrified,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“You looked like Thomas was an unstable nuclear bomb or something.”

 

“Steve, he was! He is! He was shitting - in my  _ arms _ .”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, as if Bucky was being unnecessarily dramatic.

 

Steve was an asshole.

 

Ten minutes later, everyone was wrapping up in outerwear and preparing to walk to the church. Cathedral. Whatever.

 

And Bucky still hadn’t gotten a response from Clint.

 

It was both depressing and, really, in the grand scheme of the day, predicable. 

 

Of course he couldn’t just trade dick pics with a hot sort-of stranger and flirt.

 

Bucky didn’t get any good things - even though he was seriously,  _ seriously _ building up a shit ton of karma by acting like Steve’s fake boyfriend on this goddamn day from hell.

 

-o-

 

It got worse.

 

Bucky had watched movies and tv - he hadn’t been raised by wolves, after all,  _ Steven _ \- so he had a vague grasp of what a mass was and all the ways it was different than going to temple. Well, maybe not all the ways.

 

Not to mention, the last time Bucky had actually been to temple…

 

Shit. 

 

He was really going to need to go to temple for Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah this year. 

 

Unless he could get himself assigned to another international case, like he had last year and the year before. 

 

Bucky’s plotting was interrupted by the entire congregation standing and - it took him a moment to figure out if they were reciting or singing. Actually, even after a moment, he had no idea which it was.

 

So he stood beside Steve and moved his mouth, pretending to join in with everyone else in whatever they were saying.

 

Down the row, Sarah winked at him, and Bucky flushed.

 

Fuck Steve.

 

Sarah Rogers had always been great to Bucky, had always treated him like a second son. He hated pulling this shit on her.

 

There was a lot of sitting and standing, and then a lot of sitting while a guy up front - Bishop someone, who was apparently super important - started a sermon. 

 

It actually wasn’t too different than what Bucky was used to.

 

Aside from the Jesus stuff, the Bishop’s sermon - homily, according to the printed program in Bucky’s hands - focused on the idea of not being afraid. Well, that included the Jesus stuff, but the Bishop went further, diving deep into the Torah for stories about God telling his people not to be afraid. 

 

It was actually kind of nice, and Bucky found himself not hating it at all.

 

Until communion.

 

There was a lot of lead-up to it. 

 

Bucky remembered giving Steve shit about this as kids, calling Steve a cannibal on more than one occasion because he’d thought he was a clever little shit at the age of nine.

 

At one point, while everyone else got down to their knees to pray, Bucky uneasily moved to follow. Steve held him back on the bench, and remained seated beside him.

 

Bucky arched an eyebrow at that, but Steve just shook his head, looking stony-faced for the first time all night.

 

That look was one Bucky recognized all too well. It was Steve’s ‘fight me, world’ look.

 

When, after more praying and being talked at, rows slowly started to rise and file towards the front of the cathedral, Bucky leaned close to Steve.

 

“Are you going to get us thrown out of this place?”

 

“What? No.” Steve looked at him in confusion.

 

“Then why do you have the same expression on your face that you did when the SGA tried to tell you you couldn’t form an LGBTQ student union in high school?”

 

Steve sighed, low and long and  _ sad _ .

 

“Because it’s kind of like that.”

 

Steve didn’t elaborate, though, and so Bucky sat beside him in uncomfortable silence.

 

Until it was their row’s turn to rise.

 

Bucky knew enough to remain seated, but he was once again surprised when Steve didn’t move.

 

Sarah, who did get to her feet with the rest of the Rogers clan, looked over at Steve with a sad, wistful expression on her face.

 

“You aren’t going up for snack time?” Bucky nudged Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve gave a tight, belligerent shake of his head.

 

“No. I haven’t been to confession in fifteen years.”

 

“But this is communion, right?”

 

“Can’t do it unless I’ve confessed all my sins.”

 

Fifteen years ago… Steve had been sixteen. At sixteen, Bucky and Steve had gotten up to a lot of shit. But none of it had been… Well, they had had to do some community service. Had actually spent that entire damn summer doing community service. But, why would Steve have stopped going to confession over a few pranks and spray painting  _ fascist _ on the side of a bar where actual Neo-Nazis hung out?

 

“Pretty sure your dude would forgive you for teepeeing your neighbors’ house,” Bucky muttered.

 

“But not for fucking  _ you _ ,” Steve hissed.

 

Oh. Right. That had happened that summer too, Bucky and Steve deciding  _ fuck it _ , quite literally, and experimenting with sex whenever they weren’t engaged in community service, school, or the activities that led them to getting stuck with community service in the first place.

 

“I mean, you could just… skip over the whole liking dick thing during confession, right?”

 

Steve gave Bucky a look. 

 

“I’m bisexual, Bucky. It’s who I am. It’s not something I’m going to gloss over, and it’s not something I need to ask forgiveness for.”

 

Which, sure, Bucky agreed with that. But Steve looked pissed.

 

And Bucky hated seeing Steve looked pissed.

 

Hated it even more when it was the kind of pissed that was tinged with hopeless and pain, which this clearly was.

 

Bucky reached over and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s.

 

Steve didn’t look at him, but he squeezed Bucky’s hand and didn’t pull away.

 

“You’re a good fake boyfriend,” Steve said.

 

“You’re damn right I am.”

 

-o-

 

It was after two that morning when Bucky finally made it home, and he didn’t even bother to undress aside from kicking off his shoes before he crawled into his bed.

 

He was so tired. 

 

And he was cold.

 

He just wanted to wrap himself in his sheets and three layers of blankets and just hibernate for the rest of his life.

 

And never think about shitting babies again.

 

Or- 

 

Fuck.

 

Bucky sat up and dug into his pocket for his phone.

 

One new message.

 

He opened it, a little apprehensive that it had taken Clint three hours to respond to a dick pic.

 

**Why. In. The. Fuck. Are there photos of not one but TWO dicks on my phone?**

 

Oh.

 

Well. 

 

It looked like Natasha had finally reclaimed her phone.

 

**_Merry Christmas to you too._ **

 

Natasha responded immediately, and Bucky had to wonder what the hell she was doing up so late.

 

**Fuck off James. Do you have any idea how much I love you?**

 

**_So much that you aren’t going to post my dick on Twitter or Instagram?_ **

 

**Exactly that much and NO MORE.**

 

**_What about Clint’s?_ **

 

**I haven’t decided yet. It depends on whether or not he fulfills his end of the bargain.**

 

That sounded ominous as all fuck. Then again, most things Natasha said - or texted - usually did.

 

**How was your fake date?**

 

**_NATASHA IT WAS MURDER. IT WAS HELL. THERE WERE SHITTING BABIES. IN MY HANDS. AND APARTMENT HUNTING. AND CHURCH. I WENT TO FUCKING MIDNIGHT MASS._ **

 

**So you’re taking me to the first Mets home game, right?**

 

**_Absolutely. I will take you to EVERY home game. Steve is never getting his tickets back. I was TORTURED tonight. What happened to me is strictly prohibited by the Geneva Conventions, Natasha._ **

 

**Poor baby. At least you had Clint to entertain you.**

 

Which reminded Bucky…

 

He drew in a deep breath, debated the merits of pushing Natasha over the edge, and decided,  _ fuck it _ .

 

**_So he never responded to my pics. Did he say anything to you? Before you took your phone back?_ **

 

Her response was a long time in coming.

 

**No. I’m not doing this. Goodnight James.**

 

**_Wait!_ **

 

**_Wait, pls._ **

 

**What James?**

 

**_Why am I saved in your phone as Big Dick Bear?_ **

 

**Goodnight James.**

 

-o-

 

Every year, Natasha managed to get them invites to ridiculously high-end New Year’s Eve parties.

 

One year, she had shown up at Bucky’s apartment on December twenty-ninth with two plane tickets to Vegas and the promise of a New Year’s Eve party that required both of them to sign five separate NDAs apiece.

 

It remained one of the highlights of Bucky’s life, and the hangover the day after remained one of his most epic. 

 

This year, she had somehow scored a handful of invites to Tony Stark’s bash. The billionaire genius/philanthropist/playboy had decided to throw a Gatsby-themed weekend house party at his Hamptons estate, an actual palatial property that had once belonged to Henry Ford Jr.

 

Bucky had assumed that Natasha would be inviting Steve to join them, but when he walked out to her car on Friday afternoon, it was empty except for her and her suitcase in the backseat.

 

“Steve’s on-call all weekend and he’s house-sitting for me,” Natasha shrugged as she put her car in gear - a stupidly pretty black Aston Martin that had to cost more than Bucky could even imagine.

 

“I thought you always had Sam house-sit for you,” Buck said.

 

Natasha smirked.

 

“Oops. Guess I double-booked them.”

 

Bucky had to laugh.

 

Natasha had been trying to set Sam and Steve up for  _ years _ . But apparently, Sam had a thing about blind dates, and Steve’s work schedule was crazy and demanding enough that he didn’t get out all that often anyway.

 

“You’re an evil genius,” Bucky congratulated her.

 

“I know,” she sighed happily, obviously very proud of herself.

 

“So, am I going to know  _ anyone _ at this party? Aside from you?”

 

Natasha shrugged one slim shoulder, focus on the road as she deftly navigated through the typically awful Friday afternoon traffic.

 

“Maybe? I’m not sure. Tony has an eclectic set of friends. And your firm does do a lot of corporate cases. Who knows?”

 

Bucky couldn’t tell if Natasha was being vague on purpose or because she really didn’t know.

 

“Is there anyone there that  _ you _ know?” he asked next, because he really had no idea how Natasha had gotten them invites to what was, by any measure, one of the most exclusive New Year’s Eve parties in New York.

 

Natasha smirked, and it wasn’t her usually sharp expression, but something smaller and softer.

 

“Oh, no. Oh,  _ no _ . Tell me you aren’t fucking Tony Stark.”

 

Natasha slapped him, not even looking away from the road, and it was hard enough that Bucky had to rub at his cheek.

 

“I would never sleep with Tony Stark,” she growled, clearly deeply offended at the mere idea.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized. “You just had the… ‘I’m Natasha Romanoff so I don’t actually feel feelings, but if I did I’d be in love’ expression on your face.”

 

She glared at him briefly before turning back to the road.

 

“I feel feelings.”

 

“Sure. Anger. Pride. Competitiveness.”

 

“That’s not a feeling.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.”

 

“I want to be the best. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“I didn’t say there was,” Bucky assured her.

 

Of course, he still had  _ no idea _ what her job was.

 

They had met seven years ago, at a bar in midtown, the night after Bucky had taken the bar exam and been absolutely convinced he had failed it. He’d been sitting alone, drinking himself into oblivion, debating possible alternative careers with the bartender, who had suggested prostitution - probably in an attempt to solicit Bucky’s number, now that he looked back on it - when Natasha had walked up, order two shots of vodka, forced them both on Bucky and then bodily hauled him onto the dance floor and made him dance for the next three hours before dragging him to an all-night diner and eating a giant slice of pie while he nursed a cup of coffee and she told him to stop whining and start realizing he was a badass and no one was going to hold him back except for himself. 

 

And then she’d taken him home and he’d spent an impossible-to-forget night in her bed, being ordered around by her and loving every second of it, and the next morning she had made him take aspirin, drink a liter of water, and then kicked him to the curb with her phone number programmed into his phone and instructions to call her the next time he was feeling stupid so she could kick his ass again.

 

That had been the only time they slept together, because while Bucky found Natasha attractive and terrifying in equal measure, they had fallen into friendship as easily as they had fallen into bed, and had remained on those terms ever since.

 

But Natasha was closed off and private, even with her close friends - and Bucky liked to consider himself one of those, and she hadn’t yet corrected him on the assumption - so he had no fucking idea what she did to make the money that afforded her a fancy fucking car, a gorgeous apartment, and a stunning wardrobe.

 

“I’m dating Pepper Potts.”

 

Bucky stared, open-mouthed and shocked.

 

Natasha didn’t even spare him a glare before she reached over and shoved his mouth closed.

 

“Holy fuck, Natasha.”

 

“It feels like that, most of the time. I do like being the best.” Natasha looked smug as fuck.

 

“You and Pepper Potts. That’s… kind of terrifying. You could take over the world, together.”

 

Natasha goddamn preened at the suggestion.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

He couldn’t say he was surprised - Natasha really  _ was _ the best at anything she put her mind to. And if she wanted to date Pepper Potts? Of course it would happen.

 

Bucky just wanted to know  _ how _ it had happened.

 

He knew Natasha well enough to know, however, that if she wanted to tell the story, she would. And if she didn’t, she wouldn’t.

 

And she didn’t seem inclined to tell him.

 

Yet.

 

“Oh,” Bucky decided to subtly changed the subject, “how’s Clint?”

 

She looked over at him long enough to roll her eyes.

 

For the past week, Bucky had been asking about him. Desperately and futilely trying to get his number from Natasha. 

 

He had even tried to Google him.

 

And while, yes, there was only one professional archer named Clint Barton - and holy shit, it  _ was _ a real thing, and holy shit, Clint Barton was really, really fucking good - there were dozens of C. Bartons in New York’s boroughs, and Bucky wasn’t  _ yet _ desperate enough to start cold-calling them.

 

“Dunno,” Natasha shrugged again. “Alive. I assume. He’s been making himself scarce ever since he used my phone to solicit dick pics. Which reminds me, thanks for the new contact photo for you.”

 

“You’re using my dick pic as my contact photo?”

 

“No. Gross. Your ass. It’s just so cute.”

 

Bucky didn’t know if that was better or worse. 

 

She didn’t sound  _ entirely _ mocking. And she  _ had _ always seemed to like his ass.

 

There were, he decided, worse photos of him to be used as a contact photo.

 

Like the one Steve used, of Bucky passed out and drooling in the arms of the passed-out Marine, five dicks drawn on his face. By Steve.

 

“So… why a Gatsby theme? Kind of depressing, isn’t it?” Bucky asked.

 

“I doubt Tony’s ever read it. If it’s not a tech manual, he doesn’t care. But Pepper likes the 1920s, and Tony likes jazz music.”

 

There were worse reasons to throw a themed party, Bucky supposed. And it didn’t really matter in his case, since a tux was a tux. 

 

Natasha made it out to the Hamptons in what had to be a world record time, and soon enough, they were pulling down a driveway that was lined with trees and illuminated with solar-powered sculptures, a giant mansion in the distance.

 

“We are not in Kansas anymore,” Bucky breathed as Natasha pulled up in front of the house.

 

She smirked at him.

 

“You still belong here. Besides, it’s supposed to be fun.”

 

“Yeah, fun,” Bucky agreed as a goddamn butler opened his door and another started to unload their luggage.

 

Natasha walked past them, supremely unconcerned, and Bucky hastened to follow her.

 

Once inside, Bucky had to force himself not to stare.

 

Hell, he’d visited Versailles.

 

This was just like that.

 

Only… the people who lived here hadn’t been executed by mobs yet.

 

A tall, slender woman with strawberry blonde hair and a bright smile greeted them.

 

Bucky knew who she was, of course - Pepper Potts had been the focus of more newspaper articles and magazine pieces than even Tony Stark, the nominal head of Stark Tech. The world knew, of course, that Pepper Potts was the one who really ran things - Tony Stark said it often enough that even the most misogynistic of naysayers had to at least acknowledge that Stark Tech’s CEO had some kind of say in the company.

 

He hung back while Pepper greeted Natasha, curious about- 

 

Pepper wrapped her arms around Natasha and drew the slightly shorter woman close enough to kiss on the lips.

 

Okay, then. That answered that.

 

The two women pulled away after a moment, Pepper still smiling brightly, Natasha’s cheeks just the slightest bit pink, and Bucky had to kill his smirk before Natasha’s glare turned nuclear.

 

He held out his hand to Pepper.

 

“You must be James,” Pepper shook his hand, squeezing his palm before letting him go. “Natasha speaks so highly of you.”

 

Bucky stared at his friend in shock. She rolled her eyes at him.

 

“Well, she’s… amazing,” was the only thing Bucky could think to say.

 

Pepper beamed at first him and then at Natasha.

 

“She really is, isn’t she?”

 

Bucky really, really desperately wished he was filming this.

 

No one was going to believe him when he said that Natasha was capable of blushing. Or of looking smitten.

 

“Let me show you both to your rooms,” Pepper gestured towards a massive marble staircase. “I’m afraid you will have to share.”

 

Bucky shrugged.

 

“That’s fine. I’ve suffered through Natasha hogging all the blankets before.”

 

“Oh - no, not the two of you. We’ve put you in a room with another guest. Not everyone is staying for the entire weekend - and he won’t be here until tomorrow, actually - but there are just enough overnight guests that everyone has to bunk up. We do have a second bed in your room, however. You will be comfortable.”

 

“Oh. Sure. Of course.” Bucky had to grin, because Natasha was blushing  _ again, _ and this was wild. Totally insane. 

 

Pepper showed Bucky to his room, then led Natasha away, looping her arm through the slightly shorter woman’s, and Bucky found himself watching them walk away.

 

It was sweet, actually. To see Natasha so clearly in love. 

 

-o-

 

That night was weirdly low-key.

 

There were only a handful of guests present - aside from Natasha, Bucky and Pepper, there was Tony Stark himself, Dr. Bruce Banner - who had had an article published in  _ Atlantic _ last month on mutations and evolution that Bucky had practically memorized - Colonel James Rhodes - apparently an old school friend of Tony’s - Carol Danvers, who was… maybe something top secret with the government??

 

The point was, Bucky was surrounded by brilliant, successful, beautiful people.

 

And he stared down at his place setting and the literal ocean of cutlery and had no fucking clue what fork to use. 

 

“Outside-in,” Banner leaned over and whispered to him. “Or you can piss off Tony and just use whichever you want.”

 

To demonstrate, Banner picked up the fork nearest his place and took a bite of salad.

 

Stark’s eye twitched, but he resolutely looked away.

 

Banner smirked at Bucky, and Bucky immediately relaxed.

 

The meal went a lot like that - the people around the table making jokes, ribbing each other, jumping from one subject to the next with the ease of people who had known each other for a very long time. Natasha was able to join in with ease, which made Bucky wonder how  _ long _ she and Pepper had been dating.

 

Pepper made an effort to include Bucky, which he appreciated, but he also appreciated an end to the meal and the chance to go back to his room and escape.

 

He liked people. He did. But these people - these were  _ the people _ \- and tomorrow, even more would arrive, including his roommate for the rest of the weekend, and Bucky really wanted to get a night to himself before enduring the heaven/hell of a Tony Stark party.

 

But, of course, fate fucking hated him.

 

Bucky opened the door to his room and saw immediately that it had been disturbed in his absence.

 

When he had left, both beds - the king-sized bed against one wall and the very plush-looking rollaway queen bed against the opposite wall - had been undisturbed. The butlers had stored Bucky’s bag in the closet, and he hadn’t moved it.

 

Now, however, there was an open bag on the rollaway, a pile of clothes on the floor, and the king bed was a mess of tangled sheets and blankets.

 

Bucky flicked on the room light.

 

“Wha- go away, Nat. I just flew halfway around the world. I need sleep.” The lump under the tangle groaned.

 

“Not Natasha.” Bucky had to smirk as the lump groaned and rolled.

 

Then, a head of wildly-untamed sandy hair poked out from the blankets and squinted at him.

 

Bucky knew that head.

 

Knew those eyes, too.

 

“Big Dick Bear!”

 

“Clint.”

 

The man tried to free himself from the sheets, ended up falling onto the floor on the far side of the bed, and then jumped up to his feet.

 

He was, because of course he was, shirtless and wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that looked very, very familiar to Bucky.

 

“I, uh. You- Hi,” Clint finished, one hand on the back of his head, looking as adorably out of place and embarrassed as he looked sexy.

 

Seriously. His abs. Ridiculous.

 

Also his arms.

 

Bucky had maybe spent a  _ lot _ of time Google-stalking Clint after he figured out his last name. Bucky maybe had a few photos of Clint holding a bow, a look of concentration on his face, competing in archery events.

 

Maybe.

 

And he maybe,  _ maybe _ had the photo of Clint winning his second gold medal at the Olympics as his background photo on his phone.

 

Maybe.

 

“Hi. I’m actually Bucky. Well, James. But Bucky to people I like.”

 

He held out his hand to Clint, which felt a little silly, since they  _ had _ traded dick pics, but… how else was he supposed to greet the guy?

 

Clint’s lips twitched in amusement, but he shook hands with Bucky, his grip firm, his palm warm and calloused, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel around his dick.

 

Clint didn’t let go immediately, and Bucky didn’t really see any reason to pull away.

 

“I was enjoying referring to you as Big Dick Bear,” Clint murmured, “but Nat’s threats to castrate me were getting a little graphic, so it’s probably better I start calling you something else.”

 

“So you decided I’m not Little Dick Bear?”

 

“Definitely not,” Clint grinned, and there was heat in his blue eyes that made Bucky’s mouth go dry.

 

“Speaking of dicks,” Bucky cleared his throat, “you  _ did _ promise me yours for Christmas.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Clint agreed.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Well, in the spirit of Christmas and all that,” Clint leaned close, brushing his lips over Bucky’s cheek in a tease that had Bucky shivering, before he whispered in Bucky’s ear. “You want me to fuck your goddamn beautiful ass first, or your mouth? Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all week, and let me tell you, your photos did  _ not _ do your face justice. And I cannot wait to find out how much more spectacular the rest of you really is.”

 

**_-o-_ **

 

**_The End_ **

 

I can MAYBE be persuaded to do a smut follow up/epilogue, but this is literally all I have time to write before I have to go to my next hellscape obligation.

  
  
  



End file.
